Hovering
by J9
Summary: Warrick is hovering.... (Abra Cadaver post ep, W/S)


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Title: Hovering

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Spoilers: Post ep to _Abra Cadaver_; also briefly, _Pilot, Cool Change, A Little Murder_. 

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Summary: Warrick is hovering…

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Warrick was jolted out of his reverie by two simple words. "You're hovering."

The words shattered the silence of the apartment, and he blinked in surprise, because as far as he was concerned, he wasn't hovering. He wasn't touching her, wasn't even anywhere near her. He was simply leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, looking at her. Not that she was doing anything exceptional, just rinsing the dishes that they'd used for dinner, stacking them to drip dry on the draining board. She hadn't spoken as she worked, concentrating fully on what she was doing, and she hadn't turned around when she'd spoken to him just now. 

"I'm not hovering," he protested, and even though she didn't turn around, he could imagine her raised eyebrow when he heard the chuckle that came from her lips. 

"You're hovering," was all she said, repeating her earlier words and he raised an eyebrow of his own.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged. "How would you know that when you haven't even turned around?"

Her shoulders moved up and down in a shrug. "I can feel you watching me," she said. 

"That a fact?"

"That," she said, half-turning to face him. "And the fact that you've been watching me like a hawk ever since we were in Zoe Clein's house." He held her gaze for a second, then looked down in a wordless admission that she was speaking the truth, and she took the chance to hammer home her advantage. "I've hardly been able to go to the bathroom on my own." Her tone wasn't as unkind as her words might suggest, and he looked up at her, bracing his hands on the counter behind him with a sigh. 

"Can you blame me?" he asked her, his voice a low whisper, remembering as he spoke the two of them checking the Clein home for intruders. He'd known, as she had, that they'd sent Officer Henderson away, and neither of them had known they might find on their search. He'd gone one way, she'd gone the other, and he hadn't thought anything might be amiss until he'd heard Sara's voice raised in panic, heard another voice mingling with it. He'd been following the sound before he heard Sara call his name, that particular noise making his heart beat triple-time, and he'd come around the corner with his gun out, ready to fire on whoever might be threatening her. 

The thing was, worried as he was about Sara, scared as he'd been for her, he'd be lying if he'd said that she was the only woman on his mind. In the back of his mind was Holly Gribbs, and what had happened to her, his mind's eye painting a picture based on the scene that he'd walked in on a few weeks earlier; Catherine, lying on the floor of a crime scene, bleeding, after a suspect had attacked her. 

He knew all too well what could happen at a crime scene, and hearing Sara call his name like that had scared him like he'd never been scared before. 

He told her as much now. "You scared the hell out of me Sara," he said softly, and she gave him a small smile before turning back to the sink. 

"It wasn't exactly something I could help," she reminded him. "Besides," she added, just as quietly as he had, "I was pretty freaked out myself." 

He sighed. "Yeah."

A snicker from the sink had him looking strangely at her, because he wouldn't have thought that it was a laughing matter. "Finding that panther in the back of the SUV didn't help either."

Though it wasn't funny, the memory, the way she phrased her words, made him laugh. "Understatement," he declared flatly, and she giggled too. 

But there was no laughter when she spoke again. "So yeah… hovering," she said again, bringing them back to what she evidently felt was the subject at hand. "There's no need you know." 

"I know." Hovering or not though, he stepped towards her, closing any distance between them, ending up standing right behind her, close enough to touch, but not doing so, waiting to see what, if anything, she would do. She didn't speak though, instead finishing off the dishes, placing the last one on the draining board and reaching for a towel to dry her hands. As she was doing that, he rested his hands on her hips lightly, fingers resting unmoving against the denim of her jeans. 

When she finished with the towel, throwing it aside and laying her hands on the edge of the counter, he slid his hands around her waist, the material of her top silky against his palms. His touch was light for only a moment, then he took a half step closer to her at the same time as he pulled her against him. He expected resistance, but she found none, her hands closing over his in response, her head tilting back so that it rested on his shoulder. 

They stood there in silence for what seemed like a long time before she spoke, her eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her face. "You're hovering again," she murmured, and he shrugged with the shoulder her head wasn't leaning against, a smile of his own on his face. 

"Little bit," he told her, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Makes me feel better." 

Her laugh this time was low and throaty, and he felt the vibrations against his lips. An answering shiver ran down his spine, followed by another one when her words registered in his brain. "Can't argue with that," she murmured, tilting her head back against his shoulder, arching her neck to give him better access. 

He took the invitation, but only for a few moments, then he straightened, turning her in his arms so that he could see her face. She went willingly, hands on his shoulders, and one of his hands rested on her back while the other went to her cheek, his knuckles tracing the skin of her cheek lightly. Just as she had when his arms had gone around her waist, she leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. "If anything happened to you…" he murmured, more to himself than to her, and he hadn't even realised he'd spoken aloud until her eyes flew open and she regarded him curiously. 

"I'm fine Warrick," she breathed, one hand sliding from his shoulder up to his neck, staying there. He could feel his pulse beating against her palm, feel her heart beating against his chest. "Nothing was going to happen to me…"

"You don't know that." His voice was laced with frustration when he cut her off, and he followed his words with a sigh, a sigh that she echoed. 

"You can't protect me all the time Warrick," she told him gently. 

"But I can try." 

She chuckled without humour, shaking her head. "By hovering? You'll drive us both crazy." 

He couldn't deny the truth in her words; Sara Sidle would never let herself be coddled by anyone, least of all her lover. So there remained only one question to ask her. "What can I do then?"

He expected the answer to be long and complicated, but it was neither. Instead it took the form of two arms slipping around his waist, a head burrowing into his chest, shoulders heaving as she let out a long breath. A whisper, the single word, "This," echoing in his ears as he knew what he had to do. 

And knowing that, he kept his hand on her back, moved the other from her cheek down to beside it, and rested his head on top of hers. "I can do that," he said softly, and they stayed like that, neither moving for the longest time. 


End file.
